


Of all the stars you've burned

by Kurxo



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, DJD AU, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-09-19 00:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20322091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurxo/pseuds/Kurxo
Summary: The boundaries of faith and loyalty will eventually spread thin until they break.With Decepticonism reduced to a fraud, Soundwave takes initiative for the lost Cause that he believed in many cycles ago.





	1. Ignorance

**Author's Note:**

> This is my AU where Soundwave joins the DJD.

It didn’t bothered him. 

When Starscream undermined Megatron’s leadership and very nearly usurped him on a matter of occasions.

It didn’t bother him when Megatron fell into his bloodlust and drove the war over on its head. It never mattered when Megatron baited into Optimus’ obvious plots and ruined the advantage for them. It shouldn’t have mattered when Soundwave knew that Galvatron would take everything Soundwave bled for and twist it with his greed. Most importantly, it never bothered him to be sitting at the bottom edge of a building, holding onto the few things dear to him back in the same rusted pits he started in.

Yet, Megatron’s very words tore into the bearings of his spark, churning his essence into a bitter coil. 

Alone at the forgotten reaches of Neo-Iacon, Soundwave sat at the remnants of the Decepticon base he and Shockwave scraped together from the rubble. A large cater denting in the side of the base with little patchwork done on anything except the functional computer system in the far wall. There was no one left to shelter, giving no reason to bother with base repairs. Shockwave long gone into singularity leaving Soundwave to his own devices. The rest disbanded or were murdered by the I/E bombs in their necks.

Soundwave has been out of the loop for quite some time. Shut off from the rest of Cybertron, he hardly kept in check with local events. The rise of Starscream into the flattering position of “Emperor Perpetua” stunted Soundwave’s interest in politics for a while. No offense to his late brother-in-arms, but if Cybertron has gotten to the point of selecting him as leader (negotiable on its voluntariness), then the era of Primacy was over. There was nothing left for Soundwave to remain active in.

Or, so he thought. 

The surveillance van relished in the distinguished silence of barren halls and quiet corridors. Shutting off his audials from constant noise of traffic and individuals. It was tranquil, but not freeing. The burden of responsibility never left his shoulder even if the world had gone dark for him. 

A loud interruption to his held peace as the computer revved to life right behind him. The tired motors kicking and sputtering to life while the screen warmed up.

He half expected a comm from Starscream asking for his help to clean up his mess again, but instead, he was welcomed with a space-wide broadcast. Two thick red banners bordered the top and bottom of the screen with sliding text reading “EMERGENCY BROADCAST” in all dialects of Cybertronian. 

Had the planet become fed-up with Starscream’s trying leadership? No. Something way worse. 

The familiar light-tinted silver in broad width sitting atop the judgement panel. Servos fastened at the anchor with a large metal brace. The helm was tilted down, weighing in on its guilt, yet upturned enough to reflect the red glare of the speaker’s worn optics.

**”I hereby denounce Decepticonism and its offshoots and all those who continue to fight in its name…”**

Kneeling on the floor, Soundwave was working into the panel to shut the machine down until that same authoritative voice sounded in his audials one more time. In utter disbelief, he looked towards to screen to see _him_. Sitting there among an unwelcomed audience of their previous enemies, surrounded by cameras, reporters, and a gregarious jury. 

**”The Decepticons are _over_\- ”**

What, no- He wasn’t doing this? Soundwave slammed the small panel door shut in one motion while rising on his pedes. He refused to believe his audials nor his optics on what he was witnessing. A sure doubt that this was a level of deception leftover from the I/E bombs recently dislodged from his nodal chord. It had to be, right?

**Free yourself from the shackles of a flawed philosophy and move o-**

The broadcast ended abruptly into a sharp fizz of static. A chair was smashed into the thick glass of the screen hanging onto the jagged shards that kept it fixed into the frame. Behind the chair came a nauseous venting from the ex-intelligence bot, mind thick with confusion. His servos shook in the cold air at the angle where the chair left his grip.

Visual glass started to crumble onto the floor, tumbling down the controls onto the aluminum. It all fell apart. 

First it was silent, then it was nothing but punished screams. 

Soundwave couldn’t scream any louder than he could. His vocals vibrating at lengths he couldn’t achieve through his low-grade vocal component. He kept screaming in pain, betrayal, distrust until drops of energon seeped through the seams of his battle mask. 

His vocal box started to burnout from loaded processing. The scalding fry of the box burning into the fine nodular tubes that attached to his helm. The pain doesn't compare to this metaphorical dagger in his spark. Soundwave screeched and snarled, stopping once the energon drowned the interior of his mask and caught back in his throat. Now, on servos and knees, he spat and cough until he nearly vomited every last droplet of fluid from his damaged processor. 

The floor saturated itself pink in a congealed pool under himself. Soundwave stared at his reflection. His disgusting outline framed in the organic shape of energon. Optics darted back and forth over the shapes of his helm, bitterly reminded of the selfsame insignia carved into his chest-glass. 

A… flawed philosophy? It couldn’t be. Not him, not now, not ever. It was never _flawed_. It was perfect; incontestable. _He_ was the one that twisted it that way. His tyrannical measures. His lust for utter control. The “philosophy” was perfect until it was put into practice. In the wrong servos, in the wrong servos…

A fast swipe across the ground sending the pink liquid in a large splatter across the floor until it thinned out into streaks. Soundwave couldn’t stand looking at his pitiful image anymore. The way he let himself go over useless statements. Who was he to doubt Megatron? He has put his life in his servos and vice versa. Never, in full confidence, would he denounce everything he worked for --lived for-- for those Autobots. He has long been influenced by Prowl and Optimus, it would only make sense they’d make him say something so incriminating…

Of course, it was Megatron after all. His pride was solid, he would never say anything he didn’t mean. Nothing could be gained with falsely denouncing his platform and expecting to be freed. This was it. There was no other reason for him to say these things for the world to witness. He knew how to make a platform for his own presentations...

Too many thoughts plagued his mind at once. Between denial and anger, there was no resolution to be sought. No clear answer to be given to him. There was no chance to ask for answers because he felt deep within him he already knew what it could be.

Everything he and Megatron worked for was done… In Megatron's mind. He had gotten what he wanted in the end: equal rights for all Cybertronians. Or well, the very basic textbook definition of it. Megatron had long been in prison that Soundwave was so sure that the former wouldn’t be saying such heinous things he if had only took a look around outside.

After much mental debate, Soundwave pushed himself up off the floor. It wouldn’t do to sit back and take it. The Cause that Megatron denounced the very one that he poisoned and ruined. He can get rid of it. It was better that way. It was time to make room for what it should have been. What Soundwave thought it should have been, not what Starscream said it would be. 

This end didn’t justify Megatron’s means. A hard lesson he was publicly humiliated for and gladly humiliated the rest of the Decepticons for. 

None of these things mattered. 

Soundwave grabbed his long neglected datapad off the surface of the machine and turned it on. The pad itself was a thick glass with a rare-metal border. The device was much older than many of the new Cybertronians. The item in question having been in Soundwave’s possession since he became the Intelligence Officer.

All his reliable sources and information were in here. The redacted records of everything between all Decepticons and Autobots garnered from Sentinel’s primacy up until Shockwave’s demise. 

Flicking his wrist, he pulled the star map from the small screen into a large hologram in front of him. He knew of some loyal Decepticons left in this universe, even if it were only for a fraction of his ideology. Just qualified enough for the team he needed.


	2. Long overdue welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Electric chair torture

“I’m only going to ask this one more time: where are the others hiding?” an agitated demand from an aggravated interrogator. 

Bound at all external joints, a bot trembled against the orange finish of the torture seat. Their helm was locked tight and forward with a metal-band, they were forced to face that wretched insignia mask. Two red glares glowing in the vacancy of his disguise staring back at them, waiting impatiently for their response. 

Tarn was growing tired of the charade. He had been chasing down these traitors through a whole star system. 

Normally, it would have been nothing to scrap this one and leave the others to rust on this forgotten dust bowl of a planet, but he couldn’t risk another distribution of Decepticon comm codes. 

The longer the interrogation ran, the tighter they pressed their lips together. Fervent in keeping their secrets, they squeezed until the metal sealed while it cooled between shocks. 

Tarn noticed this and pinged Kaon through a private comm. With the privacy of his mask and the loud violins of his orchestra blasting through the stereos fixed on his back, he tasked Kaon in secrecy. 

Eventually they will have to talk or fry their brain module keeping their secrets. 

Kaon clicked his switches in compliance to Tarn’s request, his motor kicking on high until his turbine rushed alive. The ex-Decepticon knitted their brows together at the feeling of the metal rattling beneath them. Desperately, they struggled to say something, anything, only to sound out in muffled exchange from voluntary silence.

“Here, let us help you with that,” Tarn spoke, so sure of himself. 

With a snap, he signaled Kaon. The bot lurched forward in mercy before they were administered with 25.5 mega volts of shock. 15.5MV more than the initial treatment. 

First came the convulsions before the neural networks of their body relapsed. They tucked their helm into their chassis, curling into themselves in defense from the pain. Their jaw locked wide, gorging the sealed metal open over their teeth to scream while the rest of their mouth fell off in stringy globs of liquid metal.

They shrieked and squealed, fighting against the restraints even if it solidified him to Kaon. A squirming struggle up until a rash silence swept over their cries. 

A loud burst of sound frequencies dirtied the air, muting both the bot’s cries and Tarn’s serenade. A piercing screech that bent the sound in the air into visual arrays passing in slow waves over the open space. 

Clasping his claws over his audial, the war tank felt the warm drip of energon spill out the edges of his helm onto his palm. 

“What the--” A flat static rendered the field quiet before the soft whistle of the wind returned to his senses.

The smelted bot dropped silent. Dropped out of Kaon too. The thin alloy of their joints softened enough to give under the deadweight of the ex-Decepticon collapsing forward onto the dirt below him. Their extremities connected to the restraints in wispy strings of malleable metal wavering in the steam of their cooling frame. A disgusting, crumpled-up mess of fried circuitry. 

“The rest of them are dead.”

?!

Whipping around, he saw a dark blue hue standing 20 paces away from him. The stereos in their shoulders collapsed back into their frame along with the awful frequencies. 

“S--... Commander Soundwave, it has been too long,” he quickly composed himself and bowed his helm forward. His free hand sweeping over his chassis in courtesy. Going even further, he bowed down to one knee extending his politeness.

Soundwave didn’t really entertain such gestures. Megatron and Starscream often loved the formality, but Soundwave didn’t care all that much. 

“The information has been extracted and deleted. There is no reason to continue this pursuit.” Tarn looked up at him, raising himself back up onto his pedes as Soundwave continued,” it’s done. That was the last of them.” 

At a total loss of words, Tarn scrapped his mind for something appropriate to say. He was drawing blanks between asking where Soundwave has been and why he was here or why didn’t he comm first. 

“Thank you, ah-” Tarn drew out his words,” did something happen?”

Soundwave looked up at Tarn, at his crew, then back at him. He noticed how they stood at attention like tamed beasts awaiting a command to unleash their tempered fury. Helex, Tesarus bowed on one knee. Kaon and Vos standing pin-straight with their optics lowered to the ground to avoid direct contact without permission.

Admittedly, Soundwave liked Tarn better than the other Phase-Sixers. They were always causing needless trouble, but never Tarn. At least, not anything with Soundwave considered important.

“Change of command: I’m joining this sect,” Soundwave answered his question.

“Yes, of-- You’re _what_” the tank tripped over his words. Not that he was furious, okay maybe a little, but mostly confused. It was so sudden that the concern of Megatron undermining his leadership immediately swarmed his mind. “Are these Lord Megatron’s orders?”

“These are my orders as Megatron is currently disposed of by the legal council,” Soundwave kept it brief. 

It was apparent that the other didn’t already know. Maybe it was better this way. A few moments of bliss before the other’s temper shatters at the news.

Kaon peaked out from behind Tarn, loaded with questions of his own. The one most excited to see his favorite officer again. “Did you kill off the rest of the traitors?” he pushed himself in front of Tarn with every word. Opticless, yet obvious elation in every angle of his expression.

“They’ve been terminated,” he repeated for confirmation.

“Kaon...” Tarn shoved Kaon back behind him with an aggressive barrage of jabbing elbows and eventually the grip of his servo. A final glare for stepping out of place while superiors were talking. 

“Anyways- If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you here with us? I had always assumed your duties were often derivative of the main command,” Tarn walked with Soundwave, his servo seating itself on the small of Soundwave’s back while he guided him back to the _Peaceful Tyranny_.

“It’s time for a new approach. Our old ways are not effective in the post-war age,” Soundwave said with absolute resolve. 

A resolve that made Tarn feel unsure. The idea was ambiguous, however, from Soundwave, his uncertainty with it was eased with his trust in the other.

“Ah, I’m sure you’re tired from your trip. Perhaps hungry?” Tarn rushed to make sure he was well accommodated first before business matters. “Had I known you wanted to visit us, we surely could have picked you up.”

“From where I was at in Iacon, it wouldn’t have been ideal,”

“Sure, but not impossible.”

“No. Starscream has guards and agents all over Iacon looking out for you specifically. It would have caused more trouble than what it’s worth,” Soundwave remembered those ugly Neutral bots stocked at every crook and cranny of the damned city. 

Tarn chuckled, a low sound that tampered Soundwave’s fragile frequencies,” did he now? I suppose he’s always been one to obsess over the little things.”

“He knew you’d come eventually without Megatron to write him off the List anymore.”

“Right he is. He honestly doesn’t plan to escape forever, no?” Tarn laughed again. He was relishing in the idea of Starscream’s unrest and anxiety from Tarn’s own doing. A shame he couldn’t witness it first hand… yet.

* * *

Soundwave couldn’t keep from inspecting the finer details of the ship as they walked along the central hall.

He had only been in here a servoful of times before it was given to Tarn as a congratulatory promotional gift. It was a sleek shuttle. Sturdy metal with layers of encryption to deter prohibited signals. Soundwave briefly remembered the hours Shockwave placed into making this ship a compatible piece of the _Nemesis_. 

Unfortunately, due to continuous failure, Shockwave removed the central communicator in the carriage of the haul. The massive size of the machine left enough room for lofty engines instead. Without the connector, the Tyranny wasn’t necessarily the drifting arsenal that it was, though it made for a nearly impenetrable space glider. 

The interior ship had been well-kept. Meticulous care has gone into polishing and buffing out any stray marks. The lingering smell of solvent remained on the walls for what he assumed removed the awful smell of stained energon. There were dents and worn edges from continuous passage of bots. Still, it was hardly noticeable in a passing glance. 

“We don’t often have visitors from the high ranks, so I regret to say I haven’t prepared a hab for you. For now, you can have my suite and I can recharge somewhere else,” he was painfully cordial as if Soundwave didn’t previously witness him lose his temper over a no-name bot moments ago. 

“There’s no need--”

Tarn held a digit over where his mouth would be in a shushing motion,” nonsense. You’re, afterall, the se- most important member of our entire movement. You deserve the best accommodations we have.”

There was no use in debating him, Soundwave couldn’t out talk him of his offer. Tarn knew Soundwave was incredibly humble and preferred to be out of the way, so it pushed Tarn to be aggressive in his offers until Soundwave kneeled. 

“For the time being: that’s fine.”

Tarn’s hab suite was stowed in the front of the ship. Large double-door with accents around the frame. Soundwave expected no less of him and his odd preference of specialty decor. The colors were the same muted dark grey as the rest of the ship with the accents a soft hue of pale purple. 

As weird taste the outside was, the inside made his spark wrench.

Plastered wall-to-wall, from floor to ceiling was Megatron and Megatron related propaganda. Pieces of Soundwave and Starscream’s pre-war work were also mixed in the collection. From posters to his written pieces, it covered the room in such an optic-sore. Soundwave’s face twisted under his mask. He had forgotten about this part of him. 

“... Is something wrong?” Tarn was already inside while Soundwave stayed at the door.

Tarn couldn’t follow his optics; he wasn’t sure where he was looking. He performed a brazen gesture to suggest over his gaudy collection before Soundwave interjected.

“Demand: Take it down.”

“Yes, I’ve c- Wait, what.”

“Take it down or I will recharge elsewhere.”

There was an immediate conflict within Tarn. Obviously he didn’t want to take down his prized collection, but he couldn’t risk making his cherish commander displeased in his care. His optics darted back and forth in thought. He searched for words or excuses that he could make to Soundwave, but it was useless. The intelligence officer could hear every passing thought and surely he wanted to near none of it.

A vent of defeat when Tarn came to his resolve.

Optics half-lidded as he bowed his helm, unable to refute his superior,” right away, sir.”

In moments, Tarn got to work, carefully pulling down everything to preserve its vintage. Soundwave let the other work by watching him idly while he did.

He rested his helm in palm watching his tracks move on their hinges as he cleaned. Soundwave could remember when he didn’t have this body, though he couldn’t remember why he chose it. War-tanks were some of the most popular frames, next to Seeker builds, during the war. It was a safe choice to pick a build with niche advantage. Megatron could easily place tanks and Seekers into any of his formations.

The purple was a common choice as well. A deep purple with sleek ebony black complementaries. Soft scratches riddled the edges of his chassis and arms from what seemed like frequent transformation. Tarn turned around to place his things in a box, forcing Soundwave to advert his attention. 

Behind him was his enormous recharge slab. 

Enormous was an understatement. It was much larger than any of the ones he’s ever had, that he would be swallowed by the sheer size of it. A curse being the smallest out of all the high command. Thankfully no one will witness him looking like a minibot on this wall-sized pad, other than the obvious. The charging cord was neatly wound up and placed atop the charging motor. Each part of it was so neatly collected it was like Tarn measured it with a ruler every time he altered its placement.

On the far wall there three large glass panels looking outward towards the oncoming depth of space. The dull shine of distant stars filled the room with a soft illumination. When laying in the slab, he could see the stars as the ship passed them. It was a beautiful, yet lonely sight. A large space with room for only one person. A bot of his size, no less.

“Commander Soundwave.”

His voice sounded too close to his audial causing him to flinch. His servo twitched in preparation to swat him. Turning around, he saw Tarn across the room with his collection of items stacked up in an array of boxes or tubes at his pedes.

He vented.

“I am finished.”

“Thank you,” he touched the side of his helm, wondering if the other was messing with him.

“Is there anything else I can fix for you?” 

“No, this is fine.” One more look around the room to make sure not a single centimeter of Megatron’s traitorous face remained.

“Before you go, I need you to watch this tonight before we meet tomorrow,” touching his comm link, he transferred a data packet of Megatron’s trial in full length. It was a large download giving Soundwave ample time for Tarn to leave and watch it far from his sight. 

A small ping on Tarn’s receiver. He must have glanced at the download size and queued it for later, “what is this?”

“Megatron’s trial on Luna 2. It is lengthy. I know you would like to have it for… Collection purposes.”

It felt like Tarn was glowing, hearing the cherish name of his beloved leader. Soundwave couldn’t fathom how disappointed he’ll be once he learns.

“If anything else, please let me know. I’ll be nearby,” Tarn reassured him. Stacking all the boxes and trinkets high, he left the room with them in a hurry. The door shut behind in a quiet hiss and a bolt lock leaving Soundwave alone in the room.

Some peace and a little less quiet. On a giant ship with humming engines and other residents, he can hear all the events faintly in the distance. It would take a few cycles to become habituated with the new sounds.

He sought out the charging cable, unwinding it to connect himself for the night until the tone of his comm started to ring. 

A tired vent as he opened up the line while wiping his visor clean. On the line was none other than Starscream’s smirking profile while he waited for him to answer.


	3. night call

It was too late to deal with this. 

Swiping over the communicator, he silenced the comm. Letting it ring itself out until Starscream got the idea to leave a message instead. 

An urgent ping!

Several more urgent pings!

Finally, the low frequency of his comm once again.

Soundwave lifted up his arm and swiped his servo over the communicator again to ignore his second call. Messages were piling up in his inbox, probably littered with complaints and simple insults.

Offline of his optics as he turned over to give another attempt at rest until his emergency comm-line lit up. The low-tone siren blaring in his helm demanding his attention. Officially fed up, he swiped his communicator again and answered Starscream’s annoying call.

“A-ha! I knew you weren’t busy,” Starscream gloated, wings fluttering behind him righteously. He eye’d the screen from beneath the edge of his crown-helm, squinting into the darkness to find the outline of Soundwave.

“Get on with it. It’s late,” he squinted at the bright screen looking bent out of shape from unrest.

Starscream smirked, yet his optics narrowed in annoyance. His crown was off-center on his helm, teetering off to one side at a crooked angle. His cape slowly bled from the thin seam fixed between his shoulder plates and shoulder guards. The air was thick around him. Large, white-wingspans fluttered feverishly behind him to break the tension.

“No, no. You look like you’re offlining on me. Sit up before I start,” he ordered him.

Soundwave shifted around to prop himself up on his arm comfortably, but no more than that. “No. Tell me or I’m closing the comm,” he threatened with the visible wave of his servo over the edge of the screen.

A startled look swept across Starscream’s face as he threw out his servo to reach in and stop him. He caught himself and pulled back, seating his servos on his thin-plated hips. The usual pout on his face heavy with doubt.

“Fine, whatever, don’t fall asleep on me like you did last time,” he pulled his wings up taut with a held vent, puffing out his cockpit towards him. 

“I won’t. I am listening.”

He passed one last look over Soundwave, reading into his unreadable visor. Deep crimson lights scanning over the edges of the view pane for the rest of him. An unsatisfied flicker whenever he gave up.

“I know you saw the trial today,” he started. A drawn pause filled with the quiet stutter of his vocal-box, looking for the appropriate words to say.

“Affirmative; I witnessed,” he nodded.

“Of course... you did,” his gaze fell towards the bottom edge of the screen. A blank stare plated his face in contemplation. 

Million of miles apart connected by rouge signals travelling in the vacancy of space. Soundwave wasn’t afforded the luxury of Starscream’s loud, intrusive thoughts that frequently broadcasted from his EMField. There was no way to cut the silence and forgo this awkward exchange. 

Shifting his jaw around, the Seeker pinpointed a starting phrase. “What do you think?” he asked nearly in rhetoric. 

Another suspended pause. An uncomfortable silence from Soundwave from this undesired interrogative. There was no right way to answer this; no one way that would satisfy them both.

“It was to be expected,” he hashed out words without much confidence behind them.

A bitter chuckle from hoarse chords. Terse plates dressed themselves with the same tired smirk with tones of disbelief. “Be honest with me, Soundy. You didn’t think that.”

“I have to accept that’s the choice that he made: the words that he said.” His industrial vocal-box was incapable of wavering pitches and favorable tones, allowing him to hide behind this grating veil of vocal ambiguity. A necessary defense to hide this emerging soreness in his throat, choking him with every reminder. 

Starscream was very obviously different. Velvet Vosian tones woven with the grating static that his refurbished vocals had, he couldn’t hide the strain. A strain translated from his troubled conscious. 

“It’s just you and me. You can quit hiding behind this dispassionate facade,” he gritted his denta,” I can’t be the only one bothered by it.”

“Negative. I’m disappointed as well.”

“Disappointed? That’s it? No malcontent, no discomfort, no anger that they let him go like that?” Starscream was growing frustrated with Soundwave's muted response. He wanted something, anything.

“He wasn’t let go. His trial was only suspended,” he refused to raise his voice, keep his reasoning sound. 

Starscream violently shook his helm in disagreement. “Did you stop paying attention halfway through or are you pretending it didn’t happen?! I know how much he meant to _you_, but don't be delusional." 

“Starscream…” he warned him lowly 

“It’s never been about us. I saw it- _you_ saw it. He escaped and is now on some ship going to fragging nowhere. He replaced us just like that,” he snapped his digits to punctuate his clause. “It goes to show that he never really needed us. He dragged us down, he exploited us, he-, he-”

“STARSCREAM,” Soundwave broke and shouted. The intensity of his tones shuddering the screen into thick lines before it returned to normal display.

All frantic movement stopped dead. Wide white-red wingspans dropped low, tucked away behind his newer, slender frame. His helm tilted up in a mix of offense and shock. His widened optics looking down at Soundwave’s red-glared silhouette in disbelief. 

His frame cowered at first before flaring forward. Edges of his lips quivering before folding back bare sharp fangs. 

“I’M RIGHT! I have _always_ been right about him. Frag, even Shockwave too! We all knew that we were only rungs on his ladder, steps on his staircase. Had you only agreed with us, we wouldn’t be in this situation and he wouldn't be out there running around on vacation.”

“We?” Soundwave sat up in the berth, matching his posture in the camera.

“Yes, _we_.”

“Negative: it is only me,” he disagreed vehemently. Truly, he was astounded at the lengths Starscream went to inject his struggles.

“Oh please, you’re not the only one with problems,” he snarled back.

“Objection: you ran off to be the Leader of Cybertron, you left me in Iacon Minor to rust. You and Shockwave,” Soundwave argued back, confused,"you're sitting on luxury and fame, like you've always wanted."

“You wouldn’t come close to understanding what it took to get here. All that I’ve sacrificed and given away! You lack the guts to be a leader. That’s why you let Megatron keep you on his leash for 5-million cycles!” he was screaming into the comm until his voice distorted.

“Irrelevant: incorrect. My sacrifices are what put you on that stand today. I’ve forfeited my reputation, my existence, for both you and Megatron. _You_ don’t understand all that I’ve surrendered to keep you alive; safe, insulated from death.”

“It was a joint effort!” Starscream snapped his mouth shut seething, “you weren’t always there when I needed someone the most. Sometimes I had to beg.”

“False: I have always answered your calls. It was not always _me_ you called.”

Red-glares widen into full circles. A drop of his helm down and to the side, unable to face Soundwave. In absence of his biolights, the resolution adjusted to dark contrast, voiding Starscream nearly out of the frame, save for his deep crimson hues. The bright outline of his wings trembled faintly in his only response.

“Star,” Soundwave softened his tone. An implied softness with his tone at a lower register; a soothing wavelength. Bitter as he was, he was accustomed to Starscream's misdirected anger. It was his natural response and Soundwave seldom took offense anymore.

“He deceived us and now he’s gone with another crew to fool. And we all just let it happen. How can I possibly live with that? How do you live with that?” The lights on his chassis sparked a few times, trying to ignite the turbines that were no longer there.

“I don’t.”

“Ah well, you and me both then,” he vented. Vexation weighed down on his frame, shoulders slackening into a soft curve.

“I'll go now, Soundwave. Goodnight," conflict held with him with the hesitation of ending the call,"I"m so--"

A bold exclamation point and error flashed over Starscream's comm before shutting it down prematurely. Soundwave grabbed his wrist, feeling for trigger in his joints before a loud blare echoed over the building.

The emergency sirens echoed in a hollowed lag down the lengths of the ship producing an awful reverb of stray frequencies. Not enough time was spared for Soundwave to enact protection protocols that he was exposed to the raw sound. He scratched rows into his helm in feeble attempt to make it stop. The sound was splitting. He lost visual focus when his gyros fell off-sync from his audials.

Helm met the flat edge of the berth, denting the band above his visor shifting it forward. Cracks spidered across the thick class under the displacement. If he screamed, he wouldn't know, he couldn't hear. The pain was certainly there, it was everywhere. 

A harsh shut down of the generators cut the lights. Remaining illumination was provided by the fading red light, darkening the room to near blackness. Nausea consumed Soundwave. Without sight, the stimulation of audio senses worsened by the klik. Auto-habituation was no longer an option.

Quickly after, he lost visual control. The room layered into mirages of itself that rattled with each alarm. No matter how still he sat, cradled into a fetal position, it only felt worse. Over-stimulation consumed his vital controls in an overwhelming rush that forced him into an emergency offline.

Grabbing at his chassis, he tried to stop it. This was no time. System screens plagued the visual space until his sight was thickly coded in red, over saturating until it faded to black.


	4. Distress signal

A rush of clicks and charges harmonized together when his processor rebooted online. An unquantifiable amount of time has passed since he fell into emergency stasis crumpled together in this awful position. He unraveled himself correct onto the berth with his joints and gears groaning out with the release of tension. “Miserable” didn’t come close to describing this gnawing mix of exhaustion and dull ache within him, but it was enough to depict something.

Time ceased recording when he fell. The last known timestamp seemed to be 50 kliks ago without accounting for the duration of his comm-call. His systems performed a mandatory recalibration whenever he lost control of his circuitry lockdown. Lengthy reports hologrammed themselves over his view space, reporting in all diagnostics down to the fourth decimal. Soundwave couldn’t be bothered to follow the scrawling text as it sped between the screen borders. He archived the reports for later reading.

After most of his senses returned, he was able to focus on his surroundings.

The same crimson warning light pulsed over the room between its red hues and empty darkness. The light trails in the walls have gone dark with the rest of the row lights that bordered the top edges of the hallway. Neighboring stars dressed the room with a variance of brightness, nearly enough to give adequate pathing for Soundwave in the narrow space. 

Grasping towards the edge of the berth, Soundwave anchored himself out of the giant slab and onto the floor. Kneepads fell first into the tiles, denting into it with low creaks of his plating adhering to his weight. 

General movement proved to be a chore. His entire frame weighed down as if there was lead piled on his back, slightly more on his left to make him favor his left side. Each step felt like he was dragging himself to the next in monitored motion.

A frame in bad shape with the spark worse off. Touching the glass of his chassis, he applied pressure over the palpitating sections of his chamber. A twinge nested in the folds of his array, radiating out in the branches of his neuro chords within his complex. Complete with the starvation and lack of rest, he fought the impulse to lurch and heave. Nothing would come but oxidized energon. Only making waste of the surviving systems that relied on it.

System deprivation of core materials explained the awful state of his energon distribution and lethargic self-repair. What didn’t was the spark-ache. Soundwave has endured chassis damage that directly affected his spark as well. Though, nothing compared to this inner pain that discharged the very essence of what implied his soul. It was akin to someone ripping open his casing and gouging their digits into every micro-length of his chamber, mangling it beyond recognition. The sharpest of pains felt closer to someone piercing their denta into the glass until his spark leaked out.

Dreadful as this was, it was insignificant to his current situation. 

The ship had become soaked in white noise. Not a single utterance from any distance. Low rumble of the quantum engines were absent. The stars passed in fluid motion that confirmed the ship’s resigned passage. However, the stars were no longer thin streaks in the viewspace. They meandered by, entangled in all-encompassing supernovas that dusted the sky in deeply saturated cool tones.

The _Peaceful Tyranny_ was offline.

The sirens should have benchmarked the ship’s critical status. The sound persisted in irregularity. In half tones or whole turns, an unpredictable amount of beeps until it skipped or glitched the next. 

Soundwave was unable to reason what had happened during his unrest. Unable to pull up his comms due to system lock, he wasn’t sure if there had been attempts at contact. Had it been a dire situation, surely there would have been someone to his door to notify him.

Trudging along, Soundwave groped alongside the hallway wall in search of Tarn. In this entire ship, the rest of the crew’s living quarters would be stationed in other floors that would be inaccessible without the lifters. A glaring flaw in the design that Shockwave couldn’t care enough to assess. The ship was meant to be a borrowed pair used for short missions, nothing long term like the DJD utilized it for.

If Soundwave guessed correctly, Tarn would have situated himself in Megatron’s previous office. The second largest room on the entire ship outside of the command lodge at the bottom floor. This control room was nothing special, mainly a place to store datapads and fast weapons. Soundwave couldn’t recall Megatron using it for anything important. Should he say, not important to duties at hand. A bitter reminisce at his leisurely activities between commands.

If memory proves correct, what little memory space he could access, the room would be around one of the corners. Down the hall, to the right as the ships tend to be. Modelled around Megatron’s frame. Due to the placement of his canon, he couldn’t see well over his right shoulder, so making all important turns with his right shoulder against the wall put him at a slight advantage. Something conscientious like that.

Down the hall, to the right. The intelligence officer continued his generous pace around the ship. His servo pressed firm against the wall keeping his balance.

Somewhere along the way, he felt his centered gravity thrown off as he sunk into a dip in the corner. First his knees before himself crashing down into the tucked lower edge of the wall. The dip was uneven with inflections of bludgeon damage. This trend continued down towards the door of Tarn’s office.

Soundwave pulled himself up again. The injury to his visor from helm trauma obstructed his visual processing. A black, inky blotch in the upper right corner that blotted out his peripheral space. The ship already dark feeling darker with the gap in his sight.

“Tarn?” he blindly called out hoping for a response.

Nothing.

He vented and pushed forward more towards the door. Or rather what was left of the door.

The edge of the tungsten door twisted around the door frame, folding downwards towards the floor. The other door appeared to have been torn out and discarded, creating a series of dents that Soundwave first fell into. 

Irrational fear crept into the back of his mind. A fear that they were ambushed in his stasis. 

He grabbed onto the cratered door ledge looking around inside for anything. Any red glare, any soft purple energon lines. Anything to tell him that Tarn was okay.

A little more desperate in his current state, he called out louder into the room,” Tarn? Answer me.” 

Again, nothing.

A shifting silence permeated throughout the room as Soundwave disturbed it. The air felt dense with soft crackling as it passed over a damaged audial. It was then did he notice that his hearing remained uncalibrated. Touching the left side of his helm, he gently irritated the unfitted plate against the mesh of inner framework, hearing the soft clicks of wires being disturbed within his head.

A few more touches to manually inspect damage. A mild irritation that couldn’t go disregarded. Even more, a distraction.

A displacement shift of weight, then brute contact with the ground. Unseated from his position, he couldn’t determine whether it was a wall or the floor he had hit first in his pitiful state. Gravity felt optional with misaligned gyros.

Unable to discern his surroundings, he scrambled back onto his pedes the best he could. Leaning off to the left, surveying his surroundings.

There was hardly a chance before he was yanked from his spot and shoved back against the wall again, the servo pressing him flush to a fresh dent, still warm from fusion contact. The burnt metal had that awful acidic burn that only fusion cannons could create as the metal molded into Soundwave’s dorsal.

“Just what are you here for?”

It was only words, but it felt like needles scratching the fine-point edges of his transistors. 

The awful precision pain in his arrays worsen until it felt that he could no longer cycle the air around them.

Seeking purchase on deep-purple casing, Soundwave scratched his flat-edged digits until they caught on the edges of this shape. The solid grip against his chest allowed Soundwave to steady himself enough to squeeze his leg in the gap, press his pede right under the golden insignia, and pushed with whatever strength he could muster.

“You know what I’m here for,” Soundwave struggled to vocalize between gritted denta. 

Not nearly enough time before another lunge. Instead of a hit, it was a grab at Soundwave’s ankle, yanking him back off the wall behind the tank then swinging him forward. Soundwave crashed into the solid shelves, falling down with them in a messy pile of antique weaponry and artifacts. Layers of items buried Soundwave in the debris of forgotten propaganda.

“I want to hear you say it. I want transparency,” Tarn spoke slow. A casual tone lowered into something deadly. Something that not even damaged audials could distill.

Short words shot straight for his spark again. If Soundwave didn’t start providing answers, it was going to be race of what killed him first: a shattered helm or a shattered spark. 

A pained vent trying to figure out his words,” proposition: you and I share the same goal.”

Servos sunk into the rubble until there was enough to support his weight as he drew himself out of the pile. He tumbled against the desk, flattening his servos down on the surface to steady himself. It took so much to lift his optics up to meet those ruby optics, nothing but anticipating stares. 

Tarn towered over the other. Warning lights saturating his figure into a daunting silhouette. He shadowed him over the desk, biolights irradiating Soundwave with a soft pink.

He always looked smaller, felt smaller. Short compared to Overlord. Short-sighted compared to Sixshot. Out-of-the-way and small, much like Soundwave.

In this moment, Soundwave is pleasantly reminded of the physical disparity between them. Never mind the small frail thing Tarn was, this new build suited him for his purpose of war and rampage. Something that never seemed to compliment his personality as much as it did his disposition.

Soundwave has never felt smaller.

A cautious look darted over Soundwave’s frame. Watching and waiting for the other to say the wrong thing. “We don’t,” he said.

Another wide swing of his arm, colliding pure-titanium fusion cannons against Soundwave’s side, knocking him across the floor. A twist of his rotatory actuator and adjustment of his position, Tarn turned his arm over to aim the barrels properly at him. The generators warming up fast as the energon pulsing through him in his rage.

“Let me explain,” Soundwave spat. 

Cannons locked on him, it would be impossible to move out of the way. Compartments on his shoulders snapped open, dislodging his stereos. Collecting himself off the ground, he faced the stereos towards Tarn and blasted glitched frequencies to cut his concentration. Visual waves distorted the air, whipping heavy space between them. The cannon's lights flicked off as energon displaced from his arm back into his helm.

Both servos clapped over either side of Tarn’s helm in anguish. 

Unable to withstand the intrusive signatures, Tarn yelled back at matching frequencies. An inverse sine-wave reflecting back against Soundwave, tuning the air into a flat noise. Both of the stereos in his shoulders busted, completely inoperable. With some succession of this counter attack, Soundwave took the opportunity to prop his shoulder-cannon flat on his shoulder. Locked onto Tarn, it blasted him with an interwoven mesh of fusion lasers lined into a circle.

The beam blasted through his shoulder tracks, throwing him off his balance as he stumbled backwards from him. The war-tank caught his footing three paces back, planting his pede flat against the floor as he hurled forward with a charged punch. The first predictable swing missed Soundwave, but the second swing came faster, crashing into the frail glass on his chest. The delicate glass shattered into a cobweb of cracks as he abruptly fell against the wall. His helm knocked back against the window knocking bursts of energon from his frame.

“Tarn, listen to me,” he curled his servo around the case of his shoulder-cannon, readying for another blast at any sudden sign of advancement.

“Spare me the excuse.” 

Tarn ignored the cauterizing wound in his shoulder-tracks were energon poured through the frayed metal, spilling out onto the floor in a molten mess. Damage inflicted on his rotator cuff rendered his arm with low mobility for wide attacks. 

“I have no excuses,” Soundwave belted out something with no time to think over the nuance of his words,” I understand this. I understand you.”

Wrong answer. Maybe right. Maybe he didn’t care.

Whatever it was, words didn’t settle in his mind when his arm pulled up into position again, aiming both charged barrels towards Soundwave’s chassis. There would be a window of 5 seconds that the cannons will blast before they needed recharge, far too long for Soundwave to drop and haul himself away. Not in this state.

Left with few options, he recklessly threw himself at him. He couldn’t aim, it didn’t matter where the blast went when it connected. He aimed for his arm, his chassis, even his helm. All his cannon had left was a weak charge. A hurried blast, shooting the beam forward until it connected with the larger fusion-beam from Tarn’s bottom barrel. 

Tarn’s cannons pulled from his energon whereas Soundwave’s pulled from his spark. His proton laser was way denser allowing it the durability to slice through the middle of the beam and straight into the barrel, blowing out the weapon and effectively staggering Tarn nearly to a kneel.

A static crackled in the barrel of Soundwave’s blaster. A large gash frayed out from ripped plating. Damage accumulating on top of his body from his ruined systems. The cannon could no longer function, even more so now that his spark was fading. He was running out of options.

A clawed servo clasped over the gaping wound in Tarn’s plating, squeezing the frayed tubes spitting out energon where the fusion-collision blasted through his arm. Switching micro-levers, he released his cannons from his arms, letting them tumble down on the floor in a bundle of crashes.

Damage to his left rotator cuff and damage to his right arm, optimal momentum would be at the cost of irreversible damage. 

Sauntering towards Soundwave, locked in battling with the failure of his systems, he gave one last swing at him. Catching him by the edge of his chassis, he threw him down on the ground again. He pinned him with his knee-pad, digging the golden edge against the soft alloy plating of his midsection. Soundwave hurled his better arm to push him off, but Tarn grabbed his wrist and pinned that down too.

A servo gripped Soundwave’s throat, digits seizing the entire circumference until claw tipped crossed around the back. Tarn squeezed until the tubes started to bulge with withheld energon collecting at the pinch, threatening to burst.

System warnings flashed vibrantly around him, holograms displaying crooked against the divets of Tarn’s detailed chassis. All errors flashed up in an array of screens, each other flashing until it vanished with each dying system. 

It hurt. Oh it was agonizing. His mind was suffocating, his frame was losing heat. All the strength he had left was only enough for one last perilous action.

A soft click. A tin-clash on the floor.

“Damus: I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Soundwave cradled his damaged servo around Tarn’s jaw, his thumb-digit gently brushing over the soft alloy of his now-bare faceplates. 

Tarn- no, Damus had always been so handsome. 

There was a certain intimacy seeing someone’s bare face. The vulnerability of it; a complex of emotions that lay uncovered from the barrier it was put behind. 

Without the insignia mask, Tarn’s optics looked bigger, his motives felt clearer. He was grieved. Addled with shocking revelation, he retreated to the comfort of his indignation. Betrayal rimmed his optics, outlining the despondency in his thin-yellow irises. 

Soundwave’s impaired arm trembled. The gears no longer had the lock-strength to hold it up. But still, he fought the strain and kept caressing his face in the only physical language that he would have known: a tender stroke of his cheek. A sharp pain surged when Soundwave raised his arm higher, gripping the back edge of Tarn’s helm, giving him a few more benevolent strokes along the ebony shapes that fashioned his helm.

“I understand. More than anyone else, I understand,” Soundwave sputtered. 

The last few coughs sapped what was left of his strength. His arm dropped from his helm, over his chassis, and down onto the floor. He narrowed his view into a thin-line, only capturing the low view of Tarn’s face.

He trusted him. Impetuous and stupid as it was, he trusted him to do the right thing.


End file.
